


The heart of the matter

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Series: Nightmare on Dream Street [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (no actual depiction of sex though), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cinnamon Roll Credence Barebone, Cinnamon Roll Percival Graves, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Credence Barebone, Sub Original Percival Graves, Subspace, Teasing, Tickling, but Credence wants to fix that, gentle Dom Credence Barebone, they're both my precious cinnamon rolls and I love them okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: A family wedding spikes Percy's anxiety, once again leaving Credence to pick up the pieces...but this time, Credence comes armed and ready.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Series: Nightmare on Dream Street [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960255
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	The heart of the matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redreaper86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redreaper86/gifts).



> I'm back at it with this series, because I just can't seem to stop. Y'all can thank redreaper86 for enabling me ;)
> 
> (No, seriously, THANK YOU REDREAPER I wouldn't have been able to pull this off without you.) <3 <3 <3
> 
> This one is considerably lighter than "Can't pull off the cheer." However, right at the beginning, there is a big, BIG TW for discussion of past suicidal ideation, which was treated with hospitalization. If this is problematic for you, skip the entire first section under the moodboard and start reading at "The second week of January a wedding invitation arrives and Percy sighs like he’s been summoned for jury duty before he gets on the phone." See end notes for a summary/spoilers for this section, if you need that.
> 
> Also, there are a couple of references to the fact that 18-year-old Percy was sent to conversion therapy, and one brief mention is made that he was kidnapped while he was working for the police.
> 
> ...but this story really is a lot more fluffy than the last, I swear. Enjoy! ^_^
> 
> (And yes, I'm posting the V-day fic a month early. What can I say, like Cree I'm a sucker for holidays.) ;)

When I was twenty years old, I escaped a cult and I thought I wanted to die.

That’s where my story begins. It doesn’t end there. It was never meant to end there, and thanks to the people who were so kind as to take me in, it didn’t. I was saved. But, and Tina is always very insistent on this wording, I saved myself.

 _You saved yourself,_ she told me when I first thanked her, _the night you came to me and said you were hurting. You saved yourself when you decided to be brave and ask for help._

I’m okay now, because I learned to be. Because when I told Tina after living with her and Queenie for a few weeks _I’m all wrong, I still feel like I want to die,_ she took me to a place where I was treated so gently it shook me to the core, where I was told over and over _it’s not your fault, you didn’t do this to yourself, you are allowed to be angry about what happened to you_ until I almost had no choice but to believe it.

But Percy didn’t have that. He wasn’t taught to be kind to himself. He sure as hell didn’t have the entire staff of a hospital telling him every day _the bad things that happened to you were not your fault._

In Percy’s mind, it’s always his fault. Always. “Graves is a walking locked-room murder mystery,” I once overheard Tina exasperatedly tell Newt. “You can lock him in a room with no way out and no weapons and kill someone five miles away, and he’d still find some reason to confess his involvement to the cops.”

I know who I married. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less to know that my husband does not see himself the way I see him.

Percy looks at himself and sees a broken man, and thinks he has to try so hard to atone for it. For things that aren’t even his fucking fault. He thinks, somehow, that he has to _make up for_ the fact that he was taken hostage by a maniac and psychologically tortured for three months. He apologized to me for not going to therapy, until he revealed that his mother sent him to a goddamn conversion therapist the summer before he went to police academy. He said he was sorry for being too sensitive when he had a massive panic attack the night he intended to propose to me.

Percy doesn’t know how to be gentle with himself. Never has. But I think now I know how to help.

He loves me, maybe a little too much. It’s a fact. He’ll do literally anything for me, and it’s taken me a little time to figure out exactly what that means. I’ll never forget the night on our honeymoon that I learned about his spanking kink, the way he rushed to obey every order given like he was being timed. It shouldn’t surprise me; his instinct all along has been to give me whatever I want. But now I think I have a name for what it is, for what we are...or what we could be. Maybe it could help. I don’t know.

But I’m sure as hell willing to find out.

~

The second week of January a wedding invitation arrives and Percy sighs like he’s been summoned for jury duty before he gets on the phone. “Hi, Aunt Lorelai,” he says, absently rubbing my knee with the hand not holding the phone. “Yeah, uh. Charlotte’s wedding invite just came and…just to clear it up, I’m bringing my husband with me, if I come. Oh, Mum didn’t tell you? Yeah, I got married…just around Thanksgiving…his name is Credence. Yeah. Well, we haven’t sent out announcements or anything, but…yeah. Yeah. Well…yeah.” He rolls his eyes at me and I stifle a giggle while the person on the other end complains about something. At the end, Percy says, “Well, I’m not coming without him, so…all right.” His face pinches a little as he concludes, “Okay. I’ll see you there. Yeah. ’Bye.”

“So…who’s getting married?” I ask as he hangs up, looking a little grumpy.

“My cousin Charlotte. We don’t _have_ to go, sweetheart,” he quickly assures me. “I was just annoyed that you weren’t on the invitation. Which as Aunt Lorelai quickly informed me is all my own fault for daring to not have a giant fucking wedding with my mother breathing down my neck.”

“Do you not want to go?” I ask point-blank.

He shrugs. “Charlotte’s a sweetheart. She’s about your age, maybe a little older. We aren’t sibling-close but she’ll be happy to see me there.”

“Then we go.”

He winces. “My family is…”

“I’ve met them, and I promise it’ll be fine. You think I don’t understand fucked up family dynamics?” I say pointedly, and he gives me a sheepish little grin. “So when is it?”

“The weekend of the fourteenth.”

“Wait, as in Valentine’s Day?” I have to bite my tongue to not giggle. “Aww. That’s…fun.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “It’s cheesy as hell and you can say it.”

“No, no,” I quickly assure him. “It’s cute, really. If you want to go I’ll happily go with you. I think it’s sweet, actually.” I nudge him in the side. “You know I don’t think holidays are an evil capitalist plot…unlike you, you cynical old man,” I tease him.

Percy rolls his eyes and a little smile plays across his lips. “You know, I ought to make you stay home just for that.” He leans in and steals a kiss. “But I love you too much to deny you anything,” he murmurs against my lips. “Lucky for you.”

He’s so gentle. Always so, _so_ gentle. He could so easily pounce on me, hold me down, grab me, have his way with me. And I’m pretty sure anyone who sees us thinks that’s how it is. That Mr. Tall Dark and Broody, who runs a security company and used to be a Detroit cop and dresses like he’s on the cover of _GQ_ rules our household with an iron fist. But he would never even think of it. When Percy says _I love you,_ what he means is, _you are safe with me._

When I crawl into his lap, he just sits there, arms loosely wrapped around my waist, looking at me like he’s seeing the face of God. “How is it,” he murmurs, reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair off my face, “that you somehow keep finding ways to make me love you _more?”_

I can’t stop smiling. Anyone who thinks my husband is stoic and emotionless needs to see us together, because he can’t keep it in—his love for me is written plain across his face, and it makes me feel things I didn’t know I could. “Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“You are without a doubt…the cheesiest person I have ever met.”

He looks startled, then indignant. “Oh yeah? All right, is that how it is?” He makes to tickle me but in a flash I’m off his lap, just out of reach. “Oh, that does it—” He leaps to his feet and the chase is on. I dodge around the furniture of the living room, letting him chase me, letting us both pretend he’s the alpha male. “Get over here, you little tease,” Percy growls when I duck behind the couch, and I pop back up, giggling so hard I can barely breathe.

I love moments like this, when he lets go of whatever insecurities hold him back and just _plays._ We dart around the room, weaving in and out of the furniture, until finally he corners me by the TV. I let him lean in to “get” me, and at the last minute slip under his outstretched arm, catch him by the shoulders, and pin him against the wall. “Well, well,” I tease, leaning in and nuzzling his neck. “Looks like I’ve caught myself a man.”

“Mmm. Looks like it.” He obligingly tilts his head back so I can kiss his exposed throat. “I guess this is the part where I beg for mercy?”

I slide my hands under his shirt and caress the soft skin of his lower back. He moans appreciatively, and I take a moment to suck a possessive bruise into his neck, right where his shirt has kindly slipped down to expose his collarbone, before I whisper, “Oh, I’ll make you beg all right, but I don’t think you’ll be telling me to stop…”

I pull away just in time to see his eyelids flutter, his lips parting in a soft gasp, _need_ written all over his pretty face. I back up and catch both his hands in mine, walking him back towards our bedroom with the promise of more bliss to come.

~

The Bavarian Inn is so, _so_ pretty. The pools are spectacular (one of them has a _waterfall!),_ there’s a minigolf course with trees that look like they’re made out of Christmas lights, and the outside looks like a holiday card, covered in fluffy white snow. “I love it,” I tell Percy before we’ve even gotten to our room.

He manages a tight little smile. “I’m glad. We’ll…we’ll try to have fun this weekend, okay?”

I squeeze his hand. “It’ll be fine,” I promise.

Friday night is the rehearsal dinner, which we’re allowed to skip (and I’m very thankful for that, because I know it’s going to take all our energy to get through the wedding itself) so we get to avoid most of the family that night. Instead we play a round of minigolf and go for a swim in the waterfall pool, before we go to the hotel’s signature restaurant for a dinner so decadent it almost feels sinful. 

I savor every moment. The way he tilts his head back with spontaneous laughter as I miss an easy shot for the fifth time, the moan of pleasure he lets escape as the water cascades in a massaging wave over his shoulders, the motion of his throat as he drains his third glass of wine, the delight in his eyes when the waitress sets a rich slice of white chocolate strawberry cheesecake in front of us. We’ll have to be on our best behavior tomorrow at the actual wedding but tonight, Valentine’s Day, is _our_ night, and I love seeing him so relaxed and happy.

And when we get back to our room he has a surprise waiting for me: a DVD player has been hooked up to the TV, boxes of Valentine chocolates set out on the end tables, a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket, rose petals scattered everywhere…and sitting there conspicuously on the TV stand, three of my favorites. _Let the Right One In, Warm Bodies,_ and _Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors._ The last one is particularly special: the movie we were watching during our first time.

For a moment I stare at the scene before me, my heart overflowing, tears in my eyes. This weekend is going to stress Percy out like nothing else, he hates being around his whole family and crowds like this wear him out…but he still took the time to do something incredibly sweet for me.

I turn to him, my eyes welling over, and he gives me that cute little smirk that means he knows damn well that he did good. “Happy Valentine’s Day?” he offers shyly, and then gasps in surprised delight when I pounce on him and nearly knock him over. “Oh! You like it, then?” he teases me, and then laughs when I squeeze him around the waist like I haven’t seen him in months. “I had a feeling…c’mon then love, we’ll watch any one you want. Or hell, all three if you like, why not? We don’t have anywhere to be in the morning…”

Percy is so good at pretending to be okay. I cherish nights like this when he really _is_ happy, because I know that right now, he feels good, like he’s done something _right,_ and for now that persistent voice that screams _you’re not good enough_ has temporarily been silenced. He’s made me happy and for him, that’s enough to soothe the constant aching need for perfection.

I don’t know how to make him understand that to me, his imperfections make him all the more incredible. That there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do that would make me love him any less.

We settle in together on the couch, and within ten minutes his head is on my lap and he is drifting off, breathing deep and even, a look of blissful peace on his face that I know will not be there tomorrow.

  
~

On our wedding day, Percy woke me up by pounding on me, a child on Christmas morning, and kissing my face all over until I woke up and tried to squirm away, and then I rolled us over and playfully pinned him down and we made love until we _had_ to get up and get dressed or we’d miss our slot at the courthouse. Tina and Newt came along as our witnesses, and afterwards we took them out to lunch as a thank-you.

It was _our day,_ and no one could take it away from us. I still remember the way he looked that day. All lit up from the inside, like he’d swallowed a star. Like his happiness couldn’t be contained. We only have one photo of that day, a selfie that we took minutes before our witnesses got there, when we were just sitting there in matching T-shirts printed to look like tuxedos (his idea) and waiting for our time to get married. The joy in his eyes defies description. It’s truly the best, happiest day for us and anyone looking at that picture could tell.

The morning of his cousin’s wedding, we’re supposed to be at the ceremony site for family photos at 1:00. We wake at eight, still a little sleepy after our late night watching movies, and Percy has to all but drag me out of bed. He’s smiling, trying hard to be upbeat, but the smile, unlike the one on our own wedding day, does not reach his eyes.

Breakfast is tense and quiet. Percy looks around the restaurant the whole time we’re there, scanning the perimeter with wide, blank eyes, on the lookout for an unseen enemy. He barely touches his food, and this is when I know it’s really starting: in the leadup to an anxiety attack, Percy never eats. (The first time I saw it happen I asked why. He said it felt like his stomach was being torn apart by wolves, and I’ve never been able to get that image out of my head.)

I slide out of my seat and settle myself on his side of the booth. He looks at me blankly for a moment and then shakes his head to clear it. A tiny, tense smile stretches his lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

I have no idea what he’s apologizing for and honestly, even if he spelled it out for me I still likely wouldn’t understand. The things for which Percy feels a need to apologize are usually completely baffling to me. So I don’t ask. I just tell him, “It’s okay,” and rub his back as I encourage him to drink his full glass of water, because I know it’s useless trying to get him to eat right now.

We go to the pool again and spend some time in the hot tub. The heat of the water seems to soothe Percy a little and I wish I could keep him there, but we have to move on, get dressed, prepare for battle. I consider faking illness to get him out of here, but I know he’d see through it and it would only upset him more, to think that I don’t believe he can handle this. No, there’s no getting out of it at this point. All I can do now is be gentle with him and pray it’s enough.

~

Percy’s mother, Jennifer Graves, is a fiend. Secretly, I refer to her as the Ultimate Karen. Because, fuck, that’s exactly what she is.

Say what you like about my mother, but at least she gave zero fucks about “looking good.” _People will judge us,_ she used to say, her nose in the air, _but we are living unto the Lord. Let them say what they like._ Jennifer, on the other hand, is a monster in a babydoll dress. She is so obsessed with her family’s reputation that, rather than tell off the bullies who threatened Percy when he came out at eighteen, she sent him to conversion therapy to “nip the problem in the bud.”

I hate her. I absolutely fucking _hate_ her.

Meanwhile Percy’s cousin Charlotte, the blushing bride, is about as sweet as it’s possible to be without physically turning into a candy bar. When Percy introduces us she squeals, “Oh my _God,_ Percival, you married a Disney prince!” and throws her arms around my neck. She’s small, but she’s bright and bouncy and it’s easy to see why he likes her. And the way Percy’s unhappy face relaxes into a smile when she gives him a gravity-defying hug makes my heart melt.

But that one moment of joy is all we get, and then Charlotte is whisked away for photos and first-looks and pre-wedding blessings, leaving poor Percy to face the firing squad that is his mother. Blow one comes during the family photos, when Jennifer keeps saying pointedly _family only_ as she looks at me—a treatment afforded to none of the other married-in spouses. (The photographer and bride, thankfully, both ignore her bullshit and let me stay by Percy’s side.)

The second hit comes when we’re taking our seats for the ceremony and we are seated in the same row as Percy’s parents, his sister and her husband, and their one-year-old baby. The baby shouts something that might be my husband’s name and reaches out for him, and he gladly holds his little nephew in his arms. “I missed you, little guy,” he murmurs, fondly stroking the baby’s downy hair.

Okay, look, maybe it’s the fact that I work with kids, but the sight of Percy cradling a baby in his strong arms just does things to me. “Oh,” I breathe. Ellie, his sister, looks at me and smiles knowingly. I feel my cheeks heat up a little but don’t back down. It’s hardly _my_ fault Percy’s so sweet.

Jennifer ruins the moment, of course, with the remark, “It’s really too bad you’ll never have children of your own, Percival. You’re so good with babies.”

Percy looks at her, stung, and cradles the child a little more securely as if he’s afraid she’ll take him away. “Credence and I could adopt, Mum,” he says defensively, his accent a little heavier in his anger.

“Well, that’s hardly the same, dear, is it?” she says patiently. “There really is nothing like having your _own_ flesh-and-blood child.”

I tear my eyes from Percy and look between Ellie, her husband, and Percy’s dad, none of whom say a single word or make any move to shut her up. Percy hands his nephew back to Ellie and sits down beside me. I see his hands clench briefly into fists and I can’t blame him, I’d very much like to punch her too. And the rest of them. _Fuck you too,_ I think unhappily as I look at Percy’s family. _You let her hurt him. I don’t trust any of you._

The ceremony is lovely, but what happened before leaves a bad taste in my mouth. More concerning, however, is that Percy stares straight ahead through most of it and jumps a little when the rest of us clap after Charlotte kisses her groom at the end. “Oh, is it over already?” he says, looking around distractedly.

My alarm bells are already going off. I need to get him out of here. But we’re all herded off to the lounge for cocktail hour, and the crowd is too thick to easily escape. We go through the receiving line and Charlotte nearly knocks Percy over with another hug, thanking him for coming and tearing up when he hands her a card. She really is awfully sweet, I think. It’s just too bad in order to be here for his obviously not-terrible cousin, he has to deal with Ultimate Karen.

At the reception I watch, my heart sinking, as Percy downs two glasses of champagne and walks into a wall trying to find our table. “I’m fine, just tired,” he insists as we take our seats (my head begins to hurt the second I see we’re at a table with his parents).

And then comes attack #3: “The flowers are so pretty, aren’t they?” Jennifer says, reaching up to delicately touch one of the sunset-colored roses in the centerpiece. “You know, Percival, you two ought to have something like this at your party.”

“Our what now?” Percy asks, raising his eyebrows at his mother. He looks about as confused as I feel.

“Your reception,” Jennifer says patiently as if we’re the idiots. “You _are_ having a reception, aren’t you?”

“We’re…already married?” Percy reminds her tentatively.

“I’m well aware,” Jennifer says with an almost comical sniff, “and it’s terrible that you wouldn’t even let your own family see it…but you’ll at least have some sort of gathering to mark the occasion, won’t you? It’s been, what, two months? By all standards of etiquette you ought to have had something by now.”

“We don’t want a party, actually,” I quickly jump in, because Percy is beginning to get that squirrel-in-the-middle-of-the-road look that means imminent danger.

Jennifer clicks her tongue. “So you aren’t even going to let us celebrate with you at all.” She looks at Percy as if I’m not even there. “Really, I thought I raised you better than this. It’s just rude to not give your family a chance to—”

Percy shrinks away from her when she leans in and that’s it, that does it, I’ve had it. Percy was a fucking cop in Detroit during the GM recession. If he’s trying to hide from a 5’5, 130-pound woman, something is wrong. I spent enough time shrinking away from my own mother to know. The dull, resigned look in his eyes scares me. _No. It’s not going down. Not today._

I lean around Percy and get right in his mother’s face. “We aren’t having any parties,” I tell her firmly, “and if we did, I certainly wouldn’t invite _you._ And if you say one more unkind thing to _my husband,_ we’re going to have a problem.”

She looks at me through horrified eyes as I draw back and settle in my seat. “Are you going to let someone talk to your mother that way?” she demands of Percy.

But Percy isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at me, and—my heart sings—some of the haze has cleared from his eyes, like he’s finally realized he can _see me,_ and I think we’re going to be okay. “I don’t usually get this way when I come home,” he whispers to me under the cover of the bride and groom making their grand entrance. “I’m so sorry, Credence. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

I know that to deny that he needs to apologize will just make it worse. “It’s okay,” I whisper back. “Try to eat a little bit, okay? And if you can’t…take it easy on the alcohol, I don’t want you fainting on me. Please.”

Percy takes my request to heart. He picks over the buffet like he’s trying to find the Holy Grail and manages to get down a few bites of the food he chooses, and I decide to count that as success…especially when he turns down the offer of more wine with dinner. He’s trying to take care of himself, if only for me, and it makes my heart swell. I love him so much and, right then and there, I silently promise myself that if it’s the last thing I do, I will make him see himself the way I do.

The first dance is “Time After Time” and it’s such a cheesy song but I don’t care, it’s sweet and melodic and when the emcee opens up the floor, I grab Percy's hand and gently pull him to his feet. “Oh, are you two going to dance?” Jennifer asks, her tone full of a concern that makes me angry.

“We are,” I say firmly, locking my eyes on hers, daring her to say something. Even a cursory look around the room reveals that we are the only same-sex couple here. And if Jennifer wants to say something about how bad it looks to the rest of the family, I’ll be more than happy to correct her wrong opinions.

But she backs down and I ignore everyone else as I pull my husband to the dance floor, wrap both arms possessively around his waist and draw him in close. “I’m sorry.” It’s my turn to apologize, I realize with a little cringe. “I shouldn’t bait her. She’s your mom. I should be more…respectful.”

Percy laughs quietly and lays his head against my shoulder. “She’s baiting us, and you’re handling it a hell of a lot better than I could on my own.” He pauses and then says softly, regretfully, “You don’t have to fight for me, sweetheart.”

“Percy, what would you do if you came face-to-face with my parents right now?”

There’s a long pause while we stand there, quietly swaying to the music, and then he sighs heavily. “Point taken. I’m sorry, I just—I don’t like that you—God, Credence. You’ve been through so much, you don’t need to handle my shit too.”

I don’t know how to put what I’m feeling into words. For a moment, all I can do is hold him, one hand creeping up to the center of his back to cradle him more firmly against me. I try to imagine being his age and carrying around all the pain that my time in the hospital taught me to let go, and it almost hurts to breathe, the idea is so overwhelming. He’s so strong and yet he thinks of himself as broken and useless, and it just makes me want to scream.

“Percy, I…you’re my everything,” is what I finally settle on, and it’s so cliche, but it’s _true._ “I’ll never stop loving you,” I whisper, and feel a little shiver run through him.

His parents aren’t too far away, and I feel Jennifer watching us. I look up and meet her eyes head on, Percy’s head still tucked into my shoulder, my arms protectively closed around him. _Here he is,_ I think, staring her down. _Come and take him from me, I dare you. I’ve faced much worse than you. You aren’t even the worst mom I’ve ever met—I pushed that one down the stairs to protect an adopted sister who didn’t even want my help. What do you think I’ll do to someone who hurts the man I love more than anything else in the world?_

Her self-preservation instincts are strong (or maybe I’m just better at death glares than I thought) because it doesn’t take her long to look away. _Yeah. You better run._ I reach up and stroke the back of Percy’s neck, hot possessive satisfaction running through me like a drug as I cradle him against me like he might break.

A moment later, the song ends and I reluctantly let him go. “Sweet Caroline” begins to play, and I’m about to suggest we go back to our table—I’ve never cared for Neil Diamond—but Percy’s lips quirk up into the ghost of a smile and there’s genuine warmth in his eyes when he says, “Oh, I love this song.”

Well, if that’s the case…only one thing to do. “May I have this dance, then?” I say teasingly, looping my arm back around his waist and drawing him in close. The smile grows, and I think I’d stay on this dance floor the rest of my life if it would make him feel better.

~

After the cake-cutting we slip out, back up to the safety of our room, and change out of our formal clothes into pajamas. Percy doesn’t even bother with a t-shirt and I’m glad; he’s too beautiful for clothes really, and I waste no time pulling him down so that he’s sitting sideways across my lap, his head automatically falling onto my shoulder.

As he curls up in my lap like a kitten, I rub his bare back and frown at how much _bone_ I can feel. He’s not eating enough. He never does it on purpose, but… “Percy, love, talk to me,” I coax him as I run my hand up and down his spine. “Are you okay? It was a pretty long day, I just…”

“I’m fine,” he says in that automatic tone that means he’s anything but.

“Nice try.” I shift a little so that he’s nestled more securely against me. “What just happened in there?” He’s silent. So after a minute I say, “Well, I’ll tell you what I saw. For the second time in as many months we went and spent time with your family, and just like last time, you were driven to a panic attack. So I have to think that maybe you’re not really being honest with me, or yourself, when you say that being with your family doesn’t usually upset you.”

Percy is quiet for another long moment, and then finally he sighs heavily. I feel him tensing up as he tells me, “It really doesn’t usually get to me this bad. I think…God, no, I can’t say that.”

“Oh yes you can.”

“You’ll take it the wrong way.”

“Try me.”

He sighs again. “I think it might be…you. It’s just,” he quickly adds to head off a potential upset, “I’m used to having to deal with it on my own. But you’re a new variable, and…and she can use you against me. And that scares me, and I know you can handle yourself but it’s—it’s not about that—”

“No, I get it.” I know what he means, because I know how Ma used Modesty and Chastity against me, and in the end it didn’t work out so well for her…but she still got away with it for twenty years. And I let her.

 _No. She did that, not you,_ I tell myself firmly, cutting those thoughts off before they start, the way I was taught in therapy. _Don’t tell yourself you could’ve stopped it sooner. You were a child. She hurt you. There’s no excuse for that._

“It’s the fact that to her I’m a bargaining chip. I’m living proof that you didn’t do what she wanted,” I say, just so Percy knows I get it.

He nods into my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says yet again. “This isn’t your problem. I don’t need to burden you with my—”

“Sh-h-h, we’ve been over this.” I rub his back in soothing circles, wait for him to relax a little, before I tell him, “You’re my husband. You have every right to ‘burden’ me sometimes, okay? You don’t just have to give me everything. You’re allowed to take, too.”

Percy squirms a little. “I just…I don’t want to feel like I’m taking _from you._ You’ve been through so much—”

“And so have you,” I cut him off firmly. “Percy, every time you find out some tiny thing about my past you make it your life’s work to give me whatever I missed out on. Talk to me. Please. Tell me what will make you feel better.”

He’s quiet for a minute, and I don’t push. I don’t care how long he takes, as long as he’s honest with me in the end. Finally with a sigh he draws his face out of my neck and looks me in the eyes. “You already know what to do,” he says. “You’ve pulled me back from the edge more times than you know. Just…be patient with me while I get used to letting you do it. That’s all I ask.”

“Consider it done,” I say, and kiss him, a flood of satisfaction rolling through me when he smiles against my lips.

~

Percy’s mood picks up a lot after our conversation, mainly I think because he recognizes now that the worst stress of the weekend is behind us. We make out on the couch for a little while before he suggests watching _Warm Bodies,_ the only movie we didn’t get around to last night, while we snack on the chocolates we were too full to eat yesterday thanks to our ginormous dinner. Just that he eats _anything_ is a good sign, as is his irrepressible giggling at the opening of _Warm Bodies_ (which, I’ll admit, is pretty funny).

We end up with his head on my shoulder and both his arms wrapped around one of mine as he shamelessly uses me as a pillow, the warm breath from his laughter occasionally tickling my neck. _Warm Bodies_ is more of a comedy than a horror movie, but sue me, it’s one of my favorite zombie movies…and I love that it makes Percy so happy too.

“You know what I love so much about this,” he says at one point as R dreams for the first time, indicating that he, a zombie, is beginning to come back to life. “It’s so cheesy, but it’s so cute you don’t even really notice until you’ve seen it…well. However many times.”

I let out a little mock-offended gasp. “Why, Mr. Graves! Are you implying that I’ve made you watch this movie too many times?”

He sits up a little, just enough to press a kiss to the crook of my neck. “Maybe once or twice, yes…Mr. Graves,” he murmurs into my skin.

A shiver goes down my spine at the sound of my married name. “It sounds to me like you’re flirting,” I say, feigning indifference.

“Flirting? With my own husband? My goodness, how dare I,” he teases, and pokes me in the ribs right where he knows I’m ticklish.

I squeak a little and shoot him a glare that he knows is fake. I actually don’t mind (okay, _kind of like,_ to be honest) being tickled. But pretending to hate it only fuels his fire and I love, _love_ when he gets all playful and teasing with me, it’s so fun and, honestly, kind of rare. I poke him back, and he makes a wounded little noise and pokes me again. “Oh, that’s how it is?” I reach over and pinch his waist, right where I know _he’s_ ticklish, and he outright yelps. “Don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” I tell him with a laugh.

Percy pouts and pokes me twice. “I’ll quit if you will.” I poke him in the belly and he actually squawks, sitting all the way up and squirming away to the end of the couch. I laugh at the petulant look on his face and chase him, just lightly fluttering my fingers over his belly and making him squeal. “Credence! Not fair,” he complains.

But when he looks up his eyes meet mine and I see the same look he had on our honeymoon, on the night I spanked him for the first time. His expression is uncertain, almost anxious, but there’s something dark and hungry in his eyes and I know, suddenly I _know_ what he wants.

Since _that night_ I’ve learned a few things. I’ve done a little reading (and by that I mean I fell down the rabbit hole one night after googling _what to do if your partner likes spanking)_ and learned words I didn’t know before and definitely needed. _Subspace. Aftercare. RACK. Safeword._ Percy loves it when I get playfully rough with him in bed, he always has…but something hit hard in just the right place that night when I spanked him on our honeymoon, when he made himself truly, irrevocably vulnerable to me and gave me new insight into the way he wants me to love him.

I crawl over and lean over him on all fours, my knees planted firmly on either side of his thighs. He lifts his head almost defiantly, his eyes locked on mine. “I guess this is the part where I beg for mercy?” he whispers, tongue darting out to trace the outline of his beautiful mouth.

“No begging necessary.” I sit back and run my hands gently down his sides, relishing the little gasp of pleasure that escapes. “But if you really _need_ me to stop…” I have to think for a second. “If you really need to me to stop, say _platypus.”_

(It’s the least sexy word I can think of. And the safeword of a sub in a series of adorable romance novels, so…it works, okay?)

Percy’s eyes go wide, and a look of pure satisfaction spreads across his face…and then I dig my fingers into his ribs and the satisfaction is replaced with surprise as he yelps indignantly. “What are you—hey! _Ohh,_ that’s not fair!”

I’ve never really tickled him before, not like this, and am surprised to see how intensely he responds to it. Within seconds my stoic, calm husband is a squeaking, squirming, giggling mess, and he does indeed beg me to stop. But I don’t. I let my fingers tap-dance across his ribs, his chest, his neck, his heaving belly. He tries to buck me off, but he’s giggling too hard to put much muscle into it. “Is that the best you can do?” I tease him, and he responds with a low whine.

“Cree, please,” he begs, trying ineffectually to push me away. I pinch his belly, dip a finger into his navel, and he _shrieks._ “Oh God! Not fair,” he moans again, and tries to wriggle out from under me.

“If you don’t hold still,” I warn him, one hand holding his against the back of the couch while the other traces fluttery patterns across his skin, “I’ll tie you down. And then you’ll _really_ be at my mercy.”

His eyes actually flutter at the thought. My stomach erupts in butterflies. Oh, _oh_ there’s a lovely thought. Percy’s hands tied above his head, spread out like a feast just for me, every inch of that stunning body mine for the taking. And he seems to like it, too. “You want that, don’t you,” I say, dodging a half-hearted swat and mercilessly drumming my fingers against his caving belly. “You want to be tied up and laid out for me, don’t you. You want me to do this to you _every night.”_

He cries out, his entire body undulating beneath mine. “Credence please,” he gasps, tears streaming down his face. “Please—”

But I don’t hear a safeword, so I don’t stop. “Who saw this coming?” I ask, walking my fingers up and down his ribs. “The stone-faced Percival Graves, ex-cop, security expert, toughest man in Detroit…can so easily be brought down by a few _tickles._ Mmm, look at this…” I poke his belly and watch it dip, then expand as he sucks in a breath of air. “I can touch this as much as I want,” I tell him gleefully, “and you just have to take it, don’t you? Just have to let me tickle you until you can’t breathe, until—”

Percy bucks so hard when I poke his belly button again that I nearly fly off. “Stop! Please! No, _no,”_ he gasps, his entire body quivering. I drop my full weight on him pinning him harder to the couch, and grab both wrists in one hand. He’s still fighting me, squirming, gasping, and—

I’m merciless. I pinch every rib, casually remarking as I do so that I’m going to feed him up again—“I want you _fat,_ Percy, I want more skin to tickle and tease until you _cry.”_ I trace circles on his heaving belly, teasing him the whole time about how it puffs and caves with each shuddering breath. I love this, God, I love this. I love the motions of his body, the way different parts of him respond to different kinds of tickles. I love the squeals of laughter I draw from him—and the soft moans in the brief moments when the tickles blur into pleasure. He squirms and gasps and pleads for me to stop. But never once does he use the word that could really _make_ me stop.

And then something changes, and—suddenly he’s not fighting me anymore. He still squirms and trembles in response to the tickles, soft gasps still punching their way out of his throat. But he’s not pushing me away anymore. When I let go of his wrists his arms fall limp to his sides. “Please,” he breathes, and it’s a low, keening whimper instead of the usual defiant squawk. 

For a second my heart damn near stops. Honestly, I did not expect this. I expected him to tap out forever ago…but, look, it’s not like I could have seen this coming, because _none of those freakin’ websites mentioned it was possible to tickle someone into subspace._

Percy trembles beneath me, and it hits me that, ready or not, this is a thing now and I need to deal with it. “Please,” he says again. “Please, I can’t take it—”

“Oh, I think you can.” I continue to flutter my fingertips over his sensitive skin but now…now I start to slow down a little. Because I recognize that tone, that glassy, tender look in his eyes, and it calms me a little: it’s the same look he had the night I spanked him on the cruise, and now I _know_ he’s feeling good right now. “I think you can take whatever I want to give you, can’t you?”

His head rolls back and I almost laugh: he’s literally exposing his throat to me. “Anything,” he echoes, his voice soft and small and his posture utterly open.

“Good, that’s good…easy, now…” I slow my strokes and add pressure, transitioning smoothly from tickling to gently rubbing his skin. He moans softly as he melts deeper into the couch, completely relaxing into my touch. “Feels good, doesn’t it,” I say as I continue the slow, steady massage.

“Yes,” he whispers, his eyes closed, his body completely limp under mine. A shiver runs through me. God, he’s so vulnerable right now—I could hurt him, really hurt him, if I’m not careful.

But I learned how to tread lightly at a sadly early age. Being careful is nothing new to me. So I do just that, gently lifting and moving him, encouraging him to help when he can, until I manage to position us so that he’s reclining in my lap again, his head tucked back into the crook of my neck just as it was when we were talking earlier. Later, I decide, I’ll wash the tearstains from his face, get some water and maybe a few pieces of chocolate into him (I don’t remember why, but I do recall one of the many articles I read saying that chocolate is the best aftercare food). Later. Right now, it’s more important, I think, to stay close.

“You okay?” I ask when we’re settled. He makes a soft little humming sound and I gently press him, “You have to tell me, Percy. Are you okay?”

“Mmm.” It takes him a minute, but he manages eventually to get out, “Yeah. Yeah, ’m okay.”

“Good, that’s…that’s good…” And then I remember, _praise._ Very important part of it, and God, I thought I knew how to do this _(it’s the same as when we have sex, right?)_ but fuck, I’m still new at it, I guess. “You did really well,” I tell Percy as I stroke his hair, and am rewarded with a soft, contented sigh…and a little shiver. I smile, good, he _really_ likes that. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling now, love?”

He thinks again, and this time his voice is a little clearer as he says, “Really good. Safe…” Pause. “Calm. Just…good.”

“Mmm, good. I like that. I want you to feel good…you _are_ good. Did so good, just letting me touch you and tease you like that, you were so good for me, just took everything I gave you, so good, Percy, I love you so much…”

I go on like that a while, repeating until the words become meaningless, until I trail off into nothing and just hold him. 

~

“I always liked it. I mean. Being…you know. In bed with someone…stronger.”

It took a while for the high to wear off. When Percy did finally stir himself a little, raise his head from my shoulder and regard me through tired but highly satisfied eyes, the first thing he said was _do you think the cafe downstairs is still open?_

We ate an entire pizza together. He sat still, very patiently, while I washed and dried his face and checked his wrists in case I bruised him when I held him down. We watched the rest of _Warm Bodies_ while I cuddled him on the couch.

Now we’re in bed together, his head on my chest while my hand traces lazy patterns across his back. He doesn’t usually lie on me like this, but I think I like it. It’s another sign of willing submission, a silent acknowledgement that he feels safe enough to let his guard down with me.

But a more telling sign is his sudden chattiness, and I plan to squirrel away as much information now as I can. “I played around with this kind of stuff a few times in college,” he goes on, a little uncertainly now, as if he’s not sure how much I want to know about his exes. “Never really went as far as we did, no spanking or…well, anything like that, really. Just…” Suddenly he sounds desperately uncomfortable. “It was mostly verbal, with a little bondage, maybe some slapping or scratching here and there. Mostly I’d just let them hold me down, call me names. You know. But it was always…well…”

“It was always about sex,” I fill in, and he nods against my chest. “Did it turn you on earlier? The tickling?”

“Kind of, a little bit?” he offers tentatively. “I mean. It felt good, that much I can tell you. But it wasn’t like…God, I don’t know how to describe it. Frustrating. I felt…trapped. But I didn’t want you to let me go.” He sighs and nuzzles against my chest, and I respond by wrapping both arms around him, letting him know I’m here and I’ve got him. “It’s funny, I never…never really thought I’d _enjoy_ being tickled like that, but…”

“Tell me,” I say, my heart speeding up for reasons I can’t quite name, “how it felt at the end.”

He’s quiet for a moment. And then he says slowly, picking his words carefully, “It was…it was like…I don’t know. There was a point when getting away didn’t matter anymore, when I didn’t feel a need to fight. When something in my head just went, _okay, if he wants to tickle you until you pass out, let him, it feels kind of nice and it seems like he likes it, so just let him do it…_ it just got to a point, like, where all I cared about was…where nothing mattered anymore except…you.”

There it is. “And it felt good?”

“Oh, it felt amazing.” He laughs quietly, the sound muffled in my T-shirt. “I can’t remember the last time I felt…relaxed…like that.”

“Good.” I hesitate a moment before I ask, in the most neutral tone I can manage, “Do you think you might want to do it again?”

There’s a long pause. And then: “I…fuck. I kind of want to do it every night,” he confesses with another tremulous laugh.

“That good, huh?”

His breath comes a little quicker. “I—I want—” He presses his face hard into my chest. “It felt so good to not—to not have to _think.”_

“Okay. Okay, I understand,” I tell him quickly. “Please don’t be upset. It was good for me too.”

“How—God, I never understood, what could you _possibly_ get out of—”

“I don’t know how to say it either,” I head him off, “but I _loved_ seeing you like that and knowing that I was the one who made it happen, okay? So if you’re already feeling guilty for what happened earlier, I’m begging you, don’t.”

He quiets again, relaxing against me almost cautiously, a spooked animal settling back down for the night. “Really, though,” he says a moment later, “we don’t have to—”

“Percy, I’ve been reading up on this stuff for, like, _months,_ okay? Ever since our honeymoon,” I tell him, finally laying all my cards on the table. No going back now. “I loved spanking you and I love when you ask me to hold you down or bite you or whatever in bed, and I really loved what happened on the couch tonight. Okay? I like it. All of it. A lot. I’ll do that stuff whenever you want, okay? We can have sex along with it or not, I like it both ways.” I think fast and then add, “The only real—hard limit—” I take a moment to congratulate myself for remembering the term for it and go on, “The only hard limit I have is—I don’t want to do it 24/7. No continuous power exchanges. That’s all I ask.”

“You know what that is?” Percy says, sounding surprised. “Wow. You really did read up on this stuff, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Because I didn’t want to pressure you into anything,” I explain, and then add candidly, “and because it was so much fun when you tried to tease me into Domming you by tickling me and acting like a dorky little brat, and I wanted to see if you’d do it again.”

There’s a brief, stunned silence. And then Percy laughs, a real, full laugh this time, nothing tentative or self-deprecating in it, and says, “Well, then. I guess now we know, don’t we.”

“Now we know,” I agree, and squeeze him tight. “I love you so much, you know that? Please, Percy… _ask me for stuff._ You’re so good to me, all the time. I just want to be good to you too.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You are. You _always_ are…Credence?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you for…for tonight. I needed it more than I could’ve brought myself to tell you.”

I stroke his hair again, enjoying the feeling of the soft, silky strands slipping through my fingers. We can work on that later, I decide. On his inability to outright ask me to take care of him. That’s something to deal with, and we will. But right now…right now I just want to hold him. Everything else can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Suicidal ideation TW spoilers: Credence discusses his past history with severe depression and trauma: when he first left the religious cult in which he grew up he struggled with self-hatred to the point of wanting to die. This section is actually pretty positive, with a lot of empowering language (Tina tells Credence "you rescued yourself when you decided to get help") and positive portrayal of mental health treatment and recovery; Credence outright states that he is better off now because he was told "it wasn't your fault, you're allowed to be angry about what happened to you" and says that he "learned to be kind to himself." This attitude is contrasted with Percy, who has lived with his own issues rather than get therapy due to misgivings from when he was younger and pressured into conversion therapy by his mother.


End file.
